


His to Hold (Part Two)

by Mirtai



Series: His To Hold [2]
Category: Smallville
Genre: AU, Epistolary, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Illnesses, Regency Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-27
Updated: 2012-08-27
Packaged: 2017-11-13 00:09:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 8,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/497200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mirtai/pseuds/Mirtai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wherein Correspondence Is Exchanged Between Various Dramatis Personae</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Letter I : Clark Kent to Martha Kent

**Author's Note:**

> This will make no sense unless you have read Part One. When I began "His to Hold", this was where I started, wanting to try my hand at the epistolary form. Each chapter will be a separate letter, some of them very short, and they loosely chart the progress of Clark and Lex over the five years of their separation. 
> 
> Again, as mentioned in Part One, originally all these letters appeared with their own individual fonts, which I cannot reproduce here, but there may be some fluctuation in font sizes.

– nd November 1821 

Dearest Mother, 

I am sorry it has taken me so long to respond to your letter – indeed, to send news at all of my new circumstances – but to say things have been hectic would be an understatement. To begin with, there has been the small problem of not getting lost every time I set foot outside my door! 

This college has more passageways than the proverbial rabbit warren, and they all look rigorously identical to me. Not only that, I keep forgetting in which quadrangle I am lodged, and every time I return from an excursion off the grounds, tend to wander around for a full quarter-hour before finding the right staircase. The porter finds this vastly amusing, and has taken to calling after me, as I pass his box, “Left, Mr. Kent, turn left!” 

My rooms are a little Spartan, but not uncomfortable. I share lodgings with another new student, a cheerful young man who neither stops talking, nor stops moving! Were I inclined to be uncharitable, I might wonder if he ever stopped to think, either, but he's a good fellow, for all his fidgety ways. I study in the library or the prep rooms, and although he can be a little restless at night, it is not intolerable. When your parcel arrived, I shared part of the contents with him, and he expressed a proper appreciation for your good food, which, you may imagine, helped to endear him to me to aconsiderable degree. His name is Wallace West.

I should have said thank you for your hamper at the start of this letter, forgive me, you know what a dolt I can be! We do, actually, get fed here, and reasonably well, so you need not think I must be starving; however, none of it is quite like your cooking, and it is good to taste your pies and savouries, even if it does make me a little homesick. 

I do not have a great many classes per se, and they are mostly in the morning, but there are tutorial groups in the afternoon, and I am required to do a great deal of reading in all subjects. It is fortunate that I can read fast and have an excellent memory. This allows me some leisure time to explore the town and surrounding area. Oxford is very beautiful – the older colleges, and particularly their chapels, are buildings such as would take your breath away – but the town is a little strange, being largely turned over to things academical. I cannot help but feel that the locals view us – the students, I mean – as something of a plague, if a relatively inoffensive one. 

I do not know which there are more of – taverns, or booksellers. No, on second thoughts, there are more taverns, but not many. What is interesting, from my point of view, is that there are many used book-dealers. I suppose graduating students find it convenient to dispose of their texts for some ready cash. I doubt I could bring myself to sell any of my books – I am giving you fair warning! 

The countryside is quite lovely, too, smoother and greener than our land, more pastoral in an Arcadian sense. One might say almost a little bland, but it is very pleasant to see, nevertheless. Life in Oxford is still busier than it was in Kendal, but a lot less so than London. 

Which brings me, I suppose, to the substance of your last letter.

I am going to strangle Pete when next I see him, and you may tell him so! He had no business worrying you like that with his tales. Whatever he has said, I am certain it was subject to his usual inclination to hyperbole. No matter what he may have told you (and he is singularly obstinate on the subject), please believe me when I say that Lord Rutherford was never anything other than the soul of kindness to me. The gossip did, to some extent, follow me to Oxford, but it was a nine-day wonder, nothing more, and other matters quickly pushed it aside. I have not been importuned in any way since I came here. 

In truth, if I have understood things correctly, I was only the ultimate piece in a much larger puzzle, of which I know next to nothing. If I have any regrets, it is that my connection to Lex has been so brutally, and seemingly irrevocably, severed. No doubt, thanks to Pete's colourful interpretation of events, you think this a good thing, but I loved him and I did not truly know it until it was too late. However, what is done is done. I will put it behind me, as I know he is doing, and I would be very grateful if you would do likewise, and let the matter lie. Forgive me, but I am not prepared to discuss it any further. 

That is all my news for the time being. Winter term ends on the 12th, and we are recalled on the 5th January, so I will probably come home, though it will be a short visit, given the travelling time involved. I cannot 'cheat' very easily, not without arousing all sorts of questions. Besides, it is too hard on the shoe leather! 

All my love to you and Father,

Yr devoted son, Clark 


	2. Letter II : Clark Kent to Peter Ross

– nd November 1821 

Dear Pete,  


You egregious idiot! 

You had to go and tattle to my mother, didn't you! I told you to let well alone, but no, you fill her head with God knows what nonsense and send her into a positive frenzy of concern. Oh, I am sure you are going to say she took it all quite calmly when you saw her. Of course she did! That's what she always does! You should have seen the letter I got from her! It took me two weeks to work out what to say that would reassure her the most. I would be exceedingly grateful if you would kindly refrain from throwing any more fuel on the fire! In fact, if you say another word to her about the matter, best friend or no, I promise I will wring your scrawny neck! 

What happened between Lex and me was, frankly, none of your damned business! What happened afterwards was something that neither of us is ever likely to understand fully, because whatever you may think, we are not, and probably never will be, in possession of all the facts. Much as I regret and reprove the death of Veryan, Lex saw to it that the gossip was stopped cold in its tracks. I was very little troubled by it on arriving in Oxford last month, and now everyone in town has pretty well forgotten I ever existed. Other news and gossip have displaced those events.

I appreciate your concern for me, Pete, truly, but not when you worry my parents. Please, I need you to reassure my mother, not to encourage her fears that her precious baby is despoiled, desolate and abandoned! She was not happy at the idea of me leaving for university in the first place; any stories you tell her are only going to convince her that she should never have let me out of her sight! I will have a hard enough time calming her when I return home during the holidays – please do not make things worse than they already are! 

Otherwise, everything is fine. The rooms are a little cramped (the beds more so!), and I have an overly-energetic cellmate though, excess activity aside, I rather like him. Studies are proving manageable so far, and when I need a different kind of diversion, there are enough highwaymen on the London –Oxford road to keep me occupied for a lifetime! Talk about a den of brigands! 

I will write more when I am a little less peeved with you! Please give my regards to your parents and your siblings. Oh, I almost forgot – especially to Matthew on his engagement. I'm sure he'll be very happy with Miss Merrivale. 

Yr friend 

Clark Kent 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ￼Disclaimer: Many of the characters used in this work of fan-fiction are the creation and property of DC Comics, Time/Warner and all relevant subsidiaries. No infringement of copyright is intended, and no income of any nature is being derived from its publication


	3. Letter III : Theodore Havrelack to Clark Kent

– th February 1822 

Dear Mr. Kent, 

I regret to inform you that following strict instructions from Lord Rutherford, I am unable to forward any correspondence to him other than from myself or from Mr. Dunleavy. I therefore enclose your letters of the last few months, with my apologies that I may not be of service to you in this matter. 

Yrs sincerely 

Th. Havrelack 

Attorney-at-Law 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ￼Disclaimer: Many of the characters used in this work of fan-fiction are the creation and property of DC Comics, Time/Warner and all relevant subsidiaries. No infringement of copyright is intended, and no income of any nature is being derived from its publication


	4. Letter IV : Chloe Sullivan to Clark Kent

-th April 1822

Dear Clark, 

Forgive me if this seems a little forward, since we have never corresponded before, but I felt that it was only the right thing. 

First, let me tell you that Lucas and I are affianced, and will marry next month. This is why I am aware of certain facts at present. 

You have been sending letters to Lucas in the hope that he would forward them to Rutherford. I am afraid that this will not be possible. Quite aside from the fact that Rutherford left instructions that he was to receive no personal correspondence from anyone other than Lucas until further notice, Lucas still has you in extreme dislike, and is certainly not inclined to spare your feelings. He has not even attempted to forward your letters and has, in fact, burned every one he has received. He had no intention of telling you this, leaving you, inevitably, to think that Rutherford was voluntarily ignoring you. I have expressed my disapproval of this attitude, but he is being obstinate about it. 

That said, I do believe that you would still not have had a response from Rutherford in any event. He was determined to sever all current connections. From what I know, after landing in France last September, he went on to Hamburg, and then took passage on a ship to Odessa. He is now residing with his friend and business partner Prince Lugansky, in or near Saint Petersburg. However, he has little direct contact with London, and Lucas and Rutherford’s man of affairs, Mr. Havrelack, are handling all his business in this country at present. 

Although I disapprove of Lucas’s somewhat spiteful attitude in this matter, I genuinely believe that Rutherford has made his own decisions, and it is certainly not my place to interfere there, however much I might wish to. 

For your own peace of mind, may I suggest that you cease attempting to contact him? I realise this must be difficult for you, but under present circumstances, it would seem like the best solution all around. I believe Lucas is judging you unfairly – you were, in many respects, an innocent victim of the events of last September – and I would be happy to continue to correspond with you, if you wish, and let you know whatever I can of Rutherford’s progress. Lucas may not, perhaps, be too happy about this, given his resentment towards you, but he must learn that, wife or no, I am still my own woman, and may choose my friends where I please. We were friends before, Clark; I see no reason to discontinue that friendship, whatever my future husband may think, and in time I hope to persuade him to view you with a kindlier eye.

I remain your good friend, 

Chloe Sullivan 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ￼Disclaimer: Many of the characters used in this work of fan-fiction are the creation and property of DC Comics, Time/Warner and all relevant subsidiaries. No infringement of copyright is intended, and no income of any nature is being derived from its publication


	5. Letter V : Clark Kent to Chloe Sullivan

– th April 1822 

Dear Chloe, 

Your kindness overwhelms me. I do not wish to be the cause of any discord between you and your fiancé, but if you can contrive, I accept your offer of continued friendship and correspondence with the deepest gratitude. I understand full well that Dunleavy bears me some ill will for the precipitous departure of his brother from these shores. I sometimes find it difficult to pardon myself. 

If ever Dunleavy feels it in his heart to forgive me for the part that I played in Lex's exile, please know that I would gladly be his friend. In the meantime, if ever there is any service I might accomplish for the benefit of you or your future husband, I will undertake it wholeheartedly, and beg that you will not scruple to ask. 

Please accept all my best wishes on your forthcoming nuptials. May every happiness be yours. 

Clark Kent. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ￼Disclaimer: Many of the characters used in this work of fan-fiction are the creation and property of DC Comics, Time/Warner and all relevant subsidiaries. No infringement of copyright is intended, and no income of any nature is being derived from its publication


	6. Letter VI : Clark Kent to Martha Kent

–  th September 1822 

Dearest Mother, 

You are coming to Oxford? Both of you? This is my punishment for having spent the last couple of weeks of the summer with the Fordmans, is it not? Or did I say something over the summer to make  you suspect I'm living  some strange life of unholy revelry? I thought Pete had convinced you I was, on the contrary, leading an excessively dull  existence, not aided by the 'weird friends' (dixit Pete) I  have made here. 

All joking aside, of course I will be very happy to see you both. Please let me know by return when you plan to arrive, so that I may bespeak rooms for you in town. No,  I'm afraid you may not stay in the college, only students  and staff may lodge there during term time. I shall seek rooms at The Amazon Queen. It is the tavern my friends and I have taken to frequenting. We seem to have an unofficial, semi-permanent reservation of the upstairs lounge  for Tuesdays and Thursdays. While I'm sure Mistress  Prince, the proprietress, is happy that we are neither riotous nor loose-living,  I'm equally sure she would prefer it if we  consumed a little more food and drink while on the premises, but most of us have our pockets pretty well to let most of the time, so we are very sober, moderate customers. Nevertheless, she is tolerant of our invasion of her premises, which, I can assure you, are thoroughly respectable, and kept so clean and neat as to meet even your exacting standards. (A great deal more so than my rooms  –  I am not letting you inspect those!)

Having written those words, it has just occurred to me that she has perhaps another reason. Mistress Prince is a widow, but still relatively young, and very beautiful. She has a daughter, also named Diana (but more usually known as Donna), and very nearly the equal of her mother for looks. As you may imagine, both ladies receive their share of attention, a great deal of it unwanted. My friends and I have seen off more than one importunate swain over the last nine months or so, with a minimum of fuss, considering that four of us are very large men and the other two are light-weight boxers of some repute in the university. So perhaps that is part of the reason Mistress Prince smiles on our custom. 

I think I should perhaps introduce you, herewith, to those who have become my friends over this last year. They  are not, despite Pete's objections,  all that eccentric. At least, they are no more eccentric than I am, and you may interpret that as you please, since you are wholly aware of all my eccentricities. 

First is Wally West. You already know of him, we roomed together all last year, and have renewed the arrangement for this year. He will appear wildly overactive to you  –  it is just his way. He usually expends his excess of energy in sporting pursuits  –  he is one of the two boxers I mentioned above. When this proves impossible, however, the only way to slow him down to any degree is to get him blind drunk, and that is almost as difficult as it is with me, since he seems to burn it off very rapidly with his constant activity.

He has been, and continues to be, the best of good fellows. I woke up floating six inches above the bed several months ago, in full sight, and he merely blinked a few times, told me he assumed I would rather no one knew about it, and has not mentioned the event, either to me, or to anyone else, since. Nor, however, does he treat me one iota differently from the way he has treated me from the start. Before you ask why I did not tell you all this before, I did not wish to worry you, since all is well between Wally and myself. 

Next is Bruce Wayne. Bruce has actually graduated, but is studying for a doctorate. He is three or four years older than I, at a guess, but it is only a guess, because he is amazingly close-mouthed about personal details. He is wealthy, but seems to forget it most of the time. He was orphaned at an early age, seven or eight, but was fortunate in his guardian (a crusty old stick named Mr. Pennyworth, who has a surprisingly sly sense of humour), and although Bruce is more than of age, he still leaves his fortunes  largely in his former guardian's  hands, with happy results, or  so it seems. Bruce is certainly not inclined to be self-indulgent, far from it, in fact. If we did not drag him out periodically, I swear he would forget that there is such a thing as leisure. He is a chemist, and very brilliant one, but very, very serious. He smiles so rarely we are inclined to view such events with a certain degree of suspicion!

Arthur Curry studies Biology, with a particular interest in marine life. He is also the finest swimmer in all of Oxford, and Captain of the rowing Firsts. Sometimes it seems as if he would rather live in the water than out of it. I am convinced that he plans to be an explorer, and sail for uncharted seas as soon as he possibly can. He can be rather dour, not unlike Bruce, but then he can be very charming, too. On the whole, though, I suspect he prefers the company of animals (or maybe that should be fish) to that of people. 

John Jones is a big, slow, gentle man. He, too, has graduated and is working for a doctorate, in the Classics. He is astonishingly erudite, with a measured, thoughtful intellect of great power. He has a way of seeing things that is neither naïve nor cynical, but simply clear-eyed, and has helped me many times to make sense of this sometimes senseless world. He should become a Professor here, he is a  wonderful teacher, and very sensitive to others' moods and  thoughts. I know you will like him a great deal. 

Kyle Rayner is Irish, and studies Art and Art  History. He dreams of being a great portraitist, like Gainsborough or Van Dyke. I am no judge, but I would certainly say he has the talent, and I am fairly sure the rest of us feel the same. He has not yet submitted anything to the Royal Academy, and given his background, we are all aware that it will be difficult for him to be accepted, but we have all been encouraging him to persevere. He has drawn all of us, however, I think he should do a portrait of Bruce, whose connections are considerable, and therefore liable to ensure that the portrait gets the proper consideration from the Academy. Not to mention that Bruce would make an admirable subject, as he is capable of sitting perfectly motionless for whole hours together! (Wally offered to sit for a portrait, and was most put out when we all roared with laughter!)

Kyle has undertaken this career against the express desires of all his family, and feels racked by indecision, but you should see his drawings, Mother, they seem to leap from the very page. I wish I knew how to communicate to him my certainty that he is following the right path. 

There you have it. These are the men who have become my friends over the last year, and whom you and Father will meet when you come here. We are a heteroclite collection, but I suppose I was bound to attract friends as strange as I am. Of the group, only Wally (because of the shared room space) and Bruce (because nothing escapes him!) actually know that I have some strange abilities, and both have kept absolutely quiet. They respect my privacy  and do not seek to use what they know, so I am strongly inclined to trust them.

Other than this, my studies progress well. As I told you during the summer, now that I have been here a while, I am less distracted by the novelty of being a student. Doctor Hamilton continues to detest me, having still not forgiven me for correcting him in front of the whole class last spring (I know, it was very tactless of me, but he was wrong, and he could have been a little more gracious about the whole matter!). 

My two weeks at Greta Bridge were very pleasant. I was surprised by how happy Lana is in the country, but their house is most attractive and agreeably situated, and she  is very much the 'lady of the manor' in the neighbourhood, a  role to which she has taken as to the manner born. I believe Fordman is considering a transfer of regiment, so that they might spend more time there; otherwise, they will certainly return to London once the baby is born and old enough to travel. He is fortunate in having a sympathetic commanding officer, who has agreed to a month-on, month-off attendance so that he can be with Lana as much as possible, given his duties. I believe the baby is due in early January. I need to find a suitable christening gift, but I shall wait until you are here for your advice. Once again, please let me know by return, if possible, your planned dates. 

I am looking forward to seeing you both. 

Love,

Clark. 

P.S. I know you will be bringing a hamper anyway, but if you have any of those jars of macerated damson plums left, that would be nice. As would the pears in port. Perhaps some apple crunch slices, too? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ￼Disclaimer: Many of the characters used in this work of fan-fiction are the creation and property of DC Comics, Time/Warner and all relevant subsidiaries. No infringement of copyright is intended, and no income of any nature is being derived from its publication


	7. Letter VII : Chloe Dunleavy to Clark Kent

– th May 1823 

Dear Clark, 

I enclose the following extract from the Saint Petersburg Court Journal for confirmation. I am sure that you could find somebody at the university to translate it for you if you wished. However, the gist of it is simply this; Rutherford has married. 

Lucas and I are at a loss to understand why even we received this knowledge from a third party, and not from Rutherford himself, unless it chances that his letter is on its way, and has simply been outdistanced by the one we received from a mutual acquaintance. It is possible. As I have mentioned before, Rutherford is hardly the most prolific of correspondents. Lucas took the clipping to Mr. Havrelack, who speaks Russian, for translation. 

The wedding took place last September, and the bride is Princess Natalia Petrovna Luganskaya, third (I believe) daughter of Prince Lugansky, who, as you know, is an old friend and business partner of Rutherford’s, and with whom he was been residing since he left these shores. By all accounts, it was a very grand affair, with the Russian Emperor himself in attendance.

The other point of interest here, however, is that it is looking very likely that Rutherford and his new wife will be returning home shortly. Rumour has it that Rutherford has been involved in discussions with Lord Liverpool and the Cabinet regarding the likelihood of arranging a substantial loan to the Crown, and that these have been fruitful. As a result, it is quite possible that he will be returning to London in the retinue of the new Russian Ambassador next year. At that time, His Majesty will recognise Rutherford’s 'services to the country', as the phrase goes, and issue an amnesty, allowing him to resume his place here without difficulty. 

I realise that this will be a blow to you. I hope enough time has passed that you know it would have happened anyway, and that it alters nothing of what was, nor of what is now, for unless you receive word directly from Rutherford, I still do not think that he wishes to renew your acquaintance. You have your own life to lead, and from your letters to me, you no longer sound as unhappy as you did eighteen months ago, which I am very glad to see. I trust, however, that you know that I am always, 

Your friend, 

Chloe 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ￼Disclaimer: Many of the characters used in this work of fan-fiction are the creation and property of DC Comics, Time/Warner and all relevant subsidiaries. No infringement of copyright is intended, and no income of any nature is being derived from its publication


	8. Letter VIII : Lady Helen Potter to Lana Fordman

– th March 1824 

Dear Lana, 

Well, my dear, it is such a pity your difficulties with your confinement should have prevented you from coming to Town this month, because you would have enjoyed last night’s reception at Carlton House. 

The rumours we have been hearing for several months now are all quite true. Rutherford has returned to the country, in the suite of the Russian ambassador, and the very first thing that happened when he set foot on dry land was that he was positively whisked off by Wellington in person, and was not seen again for a couple of days, although Rutherford House was clearly reopened. 

Last night, when His Majesty jointed the party after supper, we expected to see him come in with the Count Chernov and his wife. Imagine the surprise when, instead, he enters with a Vision on his arm, and Rutherford on his left, the three of them chatting most amiably. The ambassador and his lady followed close behind, all smiles, not at all put out by the order of things. 

Of course, the girl was Rutherford’s new wife, and there was no lapse of protocol at all, because, as a princess related to the Imperial Family, and a marchioness of the British peerage, she outranks Countess Chernova (apparently this is how you do things in Russian – there are male and female versions of family names) in any event. 

I must admit she is the loveliest creature imaginable. She is quite tall, and very slender, with a fine, white complexion, a mass of jet-black hair, and the greenest eyes I have ever seen. I am sure that they stopped off in Paris on their way here, for she was exquisitely dressed in bronze silk, and I cannot imagine Saint Petersburg has anything to offer like Parisian couture.

However, what really stopped all conversation dead was her jewellery; my dear, you have never seen the like! She had this extraordinary diadem in her hair, a sort of golden arch, slightly pointed in the centre, rising several inches above her brow, and all studded with emeralds the size of your thumbnail. To match this, she had a heavy necklace of a rather barbaric design, and bracelets that were more like cuffs, similarly inset with emeralds. It was all very exotic, and most certainly worth a king’s ransom! I must admit, however, that she has the poise to carry off such an extravagant adornment, as few women would. 

At any rate, walking in on His Majesty’s arm like that made it perfectly clear to everyone that the Veryan affair is dead and buried, and not to be held against Rutherford in any way. (The word last night was that he has provided vital assistance in helping to relieve the Crown’s parlous finances – to the tune of some £200,000, if that is to be believed!). 

Later that evening, Rutherford very properly introduced his new Marchioness to me. Her English is rather broken, but I believe she is still studying it, and her French quite put mine to shame! Rutherford remained at her side almost constantly, to translate if need be. (I had not realised that he was so fluent in Russian!) She seems a sweet girl, very charming, and prettily mannered, with a good deal of poise. She clearly adores Rutherford, and is certainly doing her duty by him. It was quite obvious from the moment we saw her that she is with child, and Rutherford says they expect the baby in July. (I informed him that you had been blessed with a little boy, and were currently expecting another child, but that your present confinement was proving rather more difficult than the first. He sends his best regards, and hopes to see you and Fordman when circumstances permit.)

I offered to help them find a suitable nurse, but he told me that they had brought his wife’s old nurse with them from Russia, to make Natalia (such is her name) feel more comfortable. I suppose I can understand that she would want at least one familiar face about her at such a time; she has, after all, been brought a very long way from home. However, I cannot help but wonder just what language their children are going to be brought up speaking! 

We did, of course, all rather hold our breath when Rutherford came to present his bride to his father. You know Lionel’s opinions on foreigners! Princess or not, I am sure that he was not happy that Rutherford had married abroad. However, they are both too well bred to allow any sign of discord to show in public; Lionel was his usual urbane self, and I must say that the girl shows considerable self-possession when necessary. She was perfectly polite and gracious, while being neither fawning, nor standoffish to him. Lionel did, however, seem pleased that she was expecting, and was heard later on to say that he was looking forward to being a grandfather! (I, on the other hand, am having the greatest difficulty in imagining Lionel a grandfather!)

So there you have it, my dear, the black sheep has returned to the fold. I shall not fail to keep you informed of any and all further developments. In the meantime, take great care of yourself, give my best wishes to your husband, not to mention congratulating him on a most well deserved promotion, and a kiss to your adorable little boy from his doting great-aunt! 

Your affectionate aunt, 

Nell 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ￼Disclaimer: Many of the characters used in this work of fan-fiction are the creation and property of DC Comics, Time/Warner and all relevant subsidiaries. No infringement of copyright is intended, and no income of any nature is being derived from its publication


	9. Letter IX : Chloe Dunleavy to Lucas Dunleavy

– nd June 1825 

Dearest Lucas, 

I cannot write, and hide from you the fact that I am very concerned about Natalia’s state of health. Not only Natalia’s, but also Lex’s, for he seems to me to be more tired than he should be. Of course, he is naturally worried about his wife, and Lionel has been – I can only use the word prowling around here. We both know how Lionel wearies Lex with his gibes and nagging. 

So far, he has resisted the idea of having a doctor in residence at the Park, something Lionel is pushing very strongly. I would dearly love to banish that man from this house; he casts a long, cold, dark shadow here, and we are all the better when he is away. Quite apart from wishing your return for my own reasons, I would like you to come as quickly as you can, because Lionel will not stay long anywhere you are, as we realised long ago. 

The good news should have been that Natalia is once again pregnant, but she is so languid, one can only worry about how likely she is to carry to term, even though everything went so well with little Alexandra. On that front, I do not know what to do about Margarethe. She is an invaluable nurse, and the little one is thriving with her, but she has this bizarre superstition about the wedding jewels that Lex and Natalia keep in their room, on display. I am told that she absolutely refused to let Natalia set them out during her first confinement, and she says (when I can understand her) that the jewels killed Natalia’s mother, and that they are killing the daughter, too!

I know that emeralds are often considered to bring bad luck, but you know as well as I that that is pure superstition. It is so strange; she seems like such a down-to-earth, sensible creature apart from this obsession. Lex is not particularly concerned either way, but he says it pleases Natalia to have the kokoshnik and necklace on their stand, in the room, and he likes to make her happy. 

I think, if it will stop the woman’s fussing, that I will support her suggestion to have the jewels confined to the vault for the time being. When Natalia comes successfully to term once again, and recovers from this unnatural languor, maybe Margarethe will see sense and realise that there can be no possible connection between an emerald-set diadem and a woman’s state of health. If she was not so good with Alexandra, I would have a few things to say to her myself, I promise you! 

Other than that, there is nothing new to report. Much as I like the Park, and love Natalia, there is a strange atmosphere here, something disquieting. I do not know whether it is Natalia’s illness, or Lionel, or even Margarethe’s obsession, or perhaps some combination of all three, but I miss you, and hope you will return soon.

Your loving wife, 

Chloe 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ￼Disclaimer: Many of the characters used in this work of fan-fiction are the creation and property of DC Comics, Time/Warner and all relevant subsidiaries. No infringement of copyright is intended, and no income of any nature is being derived from its publication


	10. Letter X : Sir William Morton to William Clark, Esq.

– th December, 1825 

Dear William, 

I take advantage of the season to expand on my usual greetings to you at this time, and to thank you, most sincerely, for your recommendation of your grandson to me as tutor for my boys. 

I will be frank; I had little hope that a freshly graduated young man with no practical experience was going to be able to master the two imps of Satan my boys have turned into these last two years! They have seen off three tutors in the last twenty-four months, including a highly regarded and experienced man from Cleveland! When I met Clark, I was sure he would be off again within the week, he seemed so mild-mannered and gentle. I discussed the terms of his employment with him when he arrived, and told him, quite bluntly, that he had my permission to use whatever discipline, within reason, he felt appropriate. He looked a little shocked, and said that he would never raise a hand to the children, and my heart fell. I said that, of course, I did not hold with beating, and in any event, that was my prerogative, should it ever arise, but that a clip over the ear, or a few sharp swats to the backside might well prove very necessary. I could see, however, that the idea sat badly with him. 

However, that night he dined with us, and at one point informed us, a little diffidently, that we might hear some odd noises coming from the nursery wing, but not to trouble ourselves. In point of fact, we heard nothing – the house is well insulated, as you know, and the nursery wing clear on the other side. In the morning, however, the housekeeper told us the young masters had been roaring and carrying on in a rare manner well into the night, and that Mr. Kent had apparently slept in the nursery! Well, when the boys came down to say good morning, they were heavy-eyed and rather sulky, while Clark was as fresh as a daisy. I asked for an explanation of what I had been told, and Thomas (he is always the ringleader!) very resentfully informed us that they had been locked inside their new tutor’s bedroom, and left there for the night. 

Of course, I looked to Clark for enlightenment, but he merely said the boys knew why he had done what he had done, and would no doubt enlighten me with a little further prompting. However, they lapsed into sullen silence, until my dear Emily asked, rather perplexed, why they had not just gone to sleep in the bed there, if they could not go back to the nursery? At that, the truth came out. They had prepared a little surprise for Clark, in the form of several unpleasant species of animal and insect life in the bed, during the afternoon. Now, faced with that same bed, in the dark, at night (and he had left no night-light), they had been afraid to go near it, with the result that neither got a wink of sleep! 

Well, what else could I do but laugh heartily! The tables had been very neatly turned on my two rascals, and I said as much to them, and sent them to their lessons without further commentary. They had been punished enough. That incident set the tone for the next few weeks, as Clark evaded, undid, or overturned one prank after another. The twins swear that he can see through walls, so adept has he proved at detecting their tricks.

However, matters came to a head perhaps five weeks after Clark arrived. I still do not know exactly what it is that Thomas said or did in class that morning; the boys remain silent, and Clark says that it is a matter between them and himself, and that it has been resolved. However, what I and my household witnessed was Clark, with Thomas tucked firmly under one arm for all the world like an errant lamb, striding down to the kitchen to request that a bath be drawn for Thomas, not upstairs in the nursery but right there, before the range. For the next half-hour or so, while the bath was made ready, Clark went about his business in the house, all the time with a kicking, struggling boy under one arm, completely oblivious to and unaffected by Thomas’ protests. 

When the time came, Clark carried him back downstairs, stripped him, set him in the bath and scrubbed him down as thoroughly as if he had been the sweep’s apprentice! Now, Thomas despises baths at the best of times, but this, in front of the great majority of the household staff, had to have been the last word in mortification. By the time Clark was done, and had dried him off and put him in his nightshirt and robe, Thomas was quite hoarse with screaming, not to mention red-faced and breathless. He was then carried back upstairs to the nursery and put to bed with instructions to stay there until suppertime, and a warning that disobedience would only attract the same punishment. The housemaids said Thomas cried himself to sleep in a fury of humiliation.

Robert, always the quieter of the two unless whipped up into a frenzy by his brother, was quite cowed by this, and went about very quietly for the next little while. Thomas was allowed to get up for supper, but then sent straight back to bed, and the next day, though he waxed sullen, he was also very quiet. He sulked for three or four days (though without mischief!), especially on discovering that Robert was no longer such a willing accomplice, and then Clark proposed a trip to Whitby Abbey, to go gull-watching, and he forgot all about his sulks! From that day on, as far as the boys are concerned, the sun rises and sets on their tutor, and all you hear from them is ‘Mr. Kent this’, and ‘Mr. Kent that’. I was never so astonished in my life! 

It is clear that he has the knack of making enjoyable things educational, and educational things enjoyable, which is a rare gift in a tutor, and with every day that passes, I am increasingly glad I listened to your persuasion and engaged him. More than that, he is everything a gentleman should be; educated, sporting, modest, well-mannered, and he makes a fine example for the boys to live up to. I must say that it is good to see that a young man these days can still have all these qualities, though when he told me you had had the direction of his education until his eighteenth year, I was less surprised. I know such a stickler as yourself would never tolerate anything less in a pupil, much less a family member! 

If I have one reproach to make to you, it is that you never told me the lad was so damned good-looking! I certainly cannot blame Clark, he is almost completely oblivious to it, but I am plagued with hordes of lovelorn swains and lasses haunting the place for a glimpse of Mr. Kent! Thank goodness the boys are too young for that sort of thing, and that I have no impressionable daughters!

You could also have mentioned he is as stubborn as you are, by the way! He was quite prepared to have all his meals with his charges after that first night, and I had to order him to dine with us regularly. After that, it took forever to persuade him to breakfast with us, too. I might have left him alone on that point if Cook had not found him raiding the larder mid-morning during his first month with us. That was when we realised that he simply was not getting enough to eat with the twins’ breakfast. Emily would have insisted that he lunch with us, too, but he was clearly uncomfortable with the idea, so I gave up. It is nice to see a big lad eat hearty like that! Our local boys go off to London for a bit of town bronze, and come back all mincing airs and graces, and wanting potatoes and vinegar at meal-times, so as not to spoil their line. Stuff and nonsense! 

Emily is very well, and asks when you will be visiting us again? As a matter of fact, this seems to be the time to do so. For the last month or so, we have had remarkably little trouble on the roads. Even the main Edinburgh to London road (which is a little out of my purview, but close enough that I take a strong interest) has been astonishingly tranquil of late. Something, or more accurately, someone, has the usual brigands cowering in their lairs. You mentioned something a while back about highwaymen coming gibbering to the lawmen of some unearthly force depriving them of their weapons, and trussing them up like game for the spit? I confess that I thought you were embroidering a little to entertain me – but the same thing is happening here now, and I have no answer for it. However, I am willing enough to accept miracles where I find them. The locals are able to go about their lawful business in security, and travellers can rest easy on the road, and that is all any local justice could want for his people.

I should, I suppose, feel a little guiltier that it is not I, personally, who is responsible for this happy state of affairs, but if the person or persons who are would only come forward, I would be happy to acknowledge their services to the community. I am sure we would get a rational explanation of how they (I am sure it is more than one person, given the tales I have heard) are operating. That said, I believe I would prefer it if such activities were conducted more clearly within the remit of the law. 

These people appear to be as responsible as they are efficient, but I consider that a piece of uncommon good fortune. Should others be inspired to similar vigilantism, the results may turn out less happily. However, I do understand, to some extent, why they are shy of publicity. Their identities known, their own kith and kin could well become targets for villainous reprisals. Well, such speculations are futile, until further information comes my way. I certainly cannot say I regret that the incidences of highway robbery and burglary have dropped radically. 

That is all my news, such as it is. I look forward to hearing yours, either by letter or, better still, in person, if we can persuade you to undertake the journey. In the meantime, Emily and I trust you are in the best of health, and give you season’s greetings and all our best wishes for the New Year.

Your friend, as ever,

Wllm. Morton 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ￼Disclaimer: Many of the characters used in this work of fan-fiction are the creation and property of DC Comics, Time/Warner and all relevant subsidiaries. No infringement of copyright is intended, and no income of any nature is being derived from its publication


	11. Letter XI : Clark Kent to Peter Ross

–  st January 1826 

Dear Pete, 

I was sorry not to see you at Christmas, but, of course, I understand the appeal of a trip to Dublin, and then  on to Edenderry to your cousin's bloodstock holdings! You  would have been quite crazy to turn down the opportunity. On the other hand, I take it a little hard that you reproach me for not giving you details of my new situation! I had thought to do so face to face when I came home for the festivities; it is you who were absent, as it turned out. I know, I should have written immediately upon assuming this post  –  believe me when I say I had other things to think about during my first few weeks here! 

We live at G–, a few miles west of Whitby. Sir William is the main landholder in the district, and the magistrate, and they have a very comfortable, modern house just on the edge of the village, with a fine park of six acres around. The village is small and pleasant. You would probably think it dull; there are few enough distractions to hand, but, frankly, I am being kept busy enough with the twins most of the time.  Sir William is, however, a very generous employer, and has often encouraged me to go to Whitby, or even on to Middlesbrough, if I feel the need for entertainments ' appropriate to my age' as he puts it. Sometimes,  I wonder just what he is imagining! He is, however, all that is kind. Right from the start, he and Lady Emily insisted I dine with them at night, and now I breakfast with them  regularly, too. I do not forget that I am just their sons'  tutor, and I was fully prepared to keep to my place, in the upper rooms with the boys, but they will not hear of it. I do not honestly have too much time for frivolity. My hands are full with the twins.

Sir William is a friend of my grandfather's. He is  perhaps ten years younger than Grandfather, but they have known each other a very long time. It is thanks to Grandfather that I was given this post and probably that I am being treated with such consideration. Sir William was married for many years, but without children, and then his wife died, and he remarried a few years later to a much younger woman, Lady Emily. She presented him with twin boys, who are now eight, and my charges. Robert is quite a sweet child, really, but he is very easily led, and Thomas (who is the elder by something like six minutes) is a fiendish imp! 

No, no, I jest. He is lively, but he is not that bad. At least, not now that he and I have come to an understanding. He does what I tell him with a minimum of fuss (I am not insane, I do not expect an eight year-old to  be an angel  –  Lord knows, you and I were nothing of the sort), and I do not shove him in a bath in full sight of the entire household. Recognise that? I picked up a few tips from your mother, as well as mine, on handling recalcitrant boys. Seriously, though, I have drawn a lot on our shared past. I know I always liked studying, and you considered me rather eccentric for doing so. I also remember when you liked, or did not like, your lessons, and what you told me of them, so I am trying to keep things varied for my own charges, and make learning fun for them. It seems to be working fairly well, if I do say so myself.

Well, that is my domestic situation for you, but I have other news of considerably greater interest. What I am about to tell you (which I would have told you personally, and never committed to ink and paper, had you been there to hear it!) must remain strictly between you and me. In fact, you had best destroy this sheet when you have read it, and dire retribution will be only the beginning if you fail me in this matter! 

I have developed a new ability  –  I can fly! 

The area of the coast around Whitby is extremely  craggy. It is ideal smuggler's haunt, full of nooks, crannies  and crevasses into which one can disappear, and without specialist knowledge of the area, it is impossible to see anyone from the top of the bluff, and too far out from a boat at sea or in the bay, not without a good eye-piece and a deal of luck. 

Now, I do not bother with the smugglers, usually.  Much of the time, they are not doing anyone any harm, and I have listened to enough people like your father or Sir William to know that even those involved with the law can be rather ambivalent about smuggling. I have only tracked down one or two, who acted as if their job was not done until and unless they had killed someone! However, thieves talk together, and the highwaymen sometimes resort to the cliff-side hidey-holes in times of need. Locating such has never been a problem; I can always see them. However, finding the path by which to bring them back to land has been a different matter.

This time, I was studying the cliff face intently, looking for the path, when I suddenly realised that I had stepped off dry land, and was floating quite comfortably at least a hundred feet above the sea! More than that, I was, quite literally, walking on thin air, progressing as if I had solid turf beneath my feet! I was so startled that I suddenly began to fall. I cannot say exactly what I did  –  even two months after the event, I am still not certain as to the exact process  –  but I stopped falling abruptly, and hung suspended in mid-air for a moment, before drifting slowly down to the shore. When I had regained my composure, I looked up at the cliff face again, and thought, I need to be up there once more, and suddenly shot up in the air, far, far above the land! 

I abandoned my search for that night's thieves, I am  sorry to say. I was rather too preoccupied with this new discovery. It took me a week or two to get things under  control, but now? Well, let us say, I can rival any bird you have ever seen. I have gone flying with the night gulls and owls off Whitby Bay, just for the sheer pleasure of it! (Though I hope nobody in the town has been looking out of their window at the time! In my black kerchief and clothing, and black cape, which flaps around me as I fly, I must look like some monstrous bat, or some other fright from nightmares!) Next time I am home, I will take you with me. It is the most exhilarating sensation!

Now, swear to me you will destroy this, and treat the information as you have treated all the other instances of my oddities over the years! I could not bear to be found out now. I am occasionally haunted by dreams of being chained down, unable to fly ever again, and I do not think I could tolerate that. You have kept my secrets this long, I am counting on you to continue doing so. 

I expect to hear all about Dublin in your next letter to me. I gather it is a lively place. 

Yr friend, 

Clark 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ￼Disclaimer: Many of the characters used in this work of fan-fiction are the creation and property of DC Comics, Time/Warner and all relevant subsidiaries. No infringement of copyright is intended, and no income of any nature is being derived from its publication


	12. Letter XII : Chloe Dunleavy to Clark Kent

– th December 1826 

Dear Clark,  


Come to Rutherford Park as quickly as you can. Lex is dying. 

In his fever dreams, he calls for you. If there is nothing else we can do for him now, it may prove a final solace to grant his last wish, and to let him know you are near. 

Come swiftly, Clark, I doubt he will last out the year. 

Chloe. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, of course I'm not leaving it like that! Part Three to follow.

**Author's Note:**

> ￼Disclaimer: Many of the characters used in this work of fan-fiction are the creation and property of DC Comics, Time/Warner and all relevant subsidiaries. No infringement of copyright is intended, and no income of any nature is being derived from its publication


End file.
